


13 Days of Clexa One-shots

by Ner1a



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 13daysofclexa, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, clextober18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-05 02:31:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16358990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ner1a/pseuds/Ner1a
Summary: 13 Days of Clexa!  A chapter for each prompt, all unrelated to each other unless marked otherwise, counting down until Halloween.  I'll have a rating at the top of each chapter in case any of them aren't for general audiences.  The prompts are as follows:Day 13: PumpkinsDay 12: Horror MoviesDay 11: Just a bunch of Hocus PocusDay 10: Historical/back in timeDay 9: Costume PartyDay 8: Vampires/werewolvesDay 7: This WitchDay 6: Haunted HousesDay 5: Urban Legends/FolkloreDay 4: Ghosts/ZombiesDay 3: Fall FestivitiesDay 2: Trick or TreatDay 1: Free dayFirst time posting on here, so PLEASE let me know if I'm missing tags or tagging things wrong.  It's been a looooong time since I did anything like this.





	1. Pumpkins

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1: Pumpkins  
> Rated: General Audiences
> 
> Clarke is a big fan of merging cultures after the fall of the mountain. Lexa just doesn't get it.

“Clarke, I know what a pumpkin is. What kind of fool do you take me for? They’re _Louwoda Klironkru’s_ largest export this time of year.”

Clarke threw her hands up with a huff, exasperated. “I don’t know, Lexa, I mean… you didn’t know what a potato was. How should I assume you know what anything is?”

Lexa sighed. “They’re called dirt apples. Seriously, Clarke, I’d think you know your own language.”

Clarke crossed her arms and glared at the Commander, irritated. Of all the things they could possibly argue about… All Clarke wanted was to celebrate a now-shared culture, seasonally appropriate. What better way to do that than by reviving an old tradition she had seen in books and films, but had never had a chance to experience? It’s not like the Ark had the ability to grow gourds, but she’d seen some varieties on the ground already. Might as well put them to use, right?

“Look, Lexa, I think we’ve had a serious breakdown in communication. I’m asking because I want us to carve Jack-o’-lanterns together. That’s all.”

Lexa narrowed her eyes at the blonde. “Lanterns? Are you insinuating that I don’t have proper lighting in my chambers? I assure you, I have taken every precaution to make sure the exact amount of light for reading is supplied in all parts of the tower, no matter the time of—”

“Lexa, seriously. Shut up and listen to me for a second, okay?” Lexa huffed sharply, and Clarke continued. “Jack-o’-lanterns are an old Earth thing. You take a pumpkin, hollow it out, carve a pretty picture on it, then put a candle inside. It’s supposed to be—”

“Resources are scarce, Clarke, you know this. Burnt pumpkin does not taste pleasant at all.”

“Lexa…” she sighed deeply. “You are damn lucky I love you. Think about it for a second. Things were even more scarce in space. Why would I, of all people, advocate setting fire to our damned food? That’s not the point of this. When you carve something into the pumpkin, a face or something, the candle makes it glow from the inside, and shines the pattern outwards. It’s pretty. And it’s not wasted, you can roast the seeds and eat them, or use some of the meat for pies and stuff.”

Lexa stepped forward and took her lover’s hands, softening slightly. She gazed at Clarke with the same intensity as when she tried to determine if she was being “punked,” as that Jasper fellow called it. “ _Niron_ , I know you want the best for our people. I just do not see what practical purpose this serves.”

Clarke pulled her closer, cupping her cheek in one hand, the other wrapping around her waist. “Then trust me, love. Everyone will love this. Introduce it to the clans and see if they want to add it to the harvest festival. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

\-----------

 

The clans had taken to this idea much more enthusiastically than expected. Lexa stood at the base of her tower, gazing out at the rest of Polis in wonder. From every doorstep, from every market stall, hundreds upon hundreds of glowing faces, animals, flowers, and other intricate carvings shone brightly into the chilly night, flickering against the breeze. _Louwoda Klironkru_ ’s ambassador had been especially excited by the prospect, even going as far as to discount any trades of 15 or more gourds at a time. Their harvest had never been in such high demand, and the peoples’ response to Clarke’s suggestion had ensured that the valley people would live in wealth for at least the next few seasons… longer, if this became tradition.

The Commander stepped out into the streets, examining each lantern as she passed, guards following behind. Though Lexa knew her guards would always look out for her, she was sure at this point that they were as distracted by the shimmering art as she was, as the children were who roamed up and down the streets, begging for sweetbreads. Lexa watched on in amusement as a child took his “trick” part of the arrangement too far, getting a scolding for setting his mother’s apron on fire over one of their pumpkins. She approached the center of town, excitement growing as the light show intensified.

The contest had been a last-minute addition to this part of the festivities, resulting from the clans’ newfound enthusiasm for carving. Twelve tables had been arranged throughout the marketplace, numbers and clan names painted on large cards, each with its own delicately carved jack-o’-lantern on display. A final table was set up at the edge of the square with a large pot and small strips of paper, for each person to cast a vote for their favorite. The prize was enormous—a bounty of food, supplies, tools, toys, and other assorted goods donated by each of the participating clans. Only the Ice Nation declined to participate in this part, for which Lexa was grateful—surely, children didn’t need to be yet exposed to whatever the Azgedan people would want to display. Something borderline treasonous, Lexa presumed.

The carvings were beautiful, Lexa had to admit. Art was highly prized by her people for its rarity. Every person had to contribute with their trade to the welfare of their clan, which led to little effort being spent on artistic or musical pursuits, considered “unnecessary” by most. Clarke was appalled at this notion, and Lexa was relieved to find so—they were both in that rare minority that deemed art and music as essential to a people’s well being as farming, or fighting, or science and tek. “The pursuit of happiness is a right,” Clarke had once stated in a clan meeting. “An unhappy people are an unproductive people. Why should children stop playing and creating and imagining, simply because another season has passed?”

A few clans had taken her words to heart, and revised their societies, bit by bit. In the few years since the Mountain fell to their combined armies, _Skaikru_ had introduced pigment, pastels, fine-hair brushes, and various techniques that had been preserved in their “moving pictures” to the people of _Delfikru_ , _Floukru_ , _Sankru_ , _Trikru_ , and _Trishanakru_ , each of whom had adapted and modified and expanded based on their own ideas and designs. It had resulted in an explosion of craft the likes of which the clans had never seen—instead of plain furs, intricately woven blankets covered beds; instead of practical tables and stiff wooden chairs, carved and luxuriously designed furniture adorned the clan halls. Lexa was immensely proud of her people’s ingenuity, and even more so of her lover, who had brought the ideas in her mind into reality.

It was noticeable, too, in those clans’ carvings for the contest. While the other clans had opted for simplistic faces or geometrical designs, the more artistically-inclined clans had taken things to another level. _Floukru_ presented a fear-inducing scene of a boat caught in a hurricane, waves dwarfing its sails. Her own home clan, _Trikru_ , offered a carving by Indra, of all people, and showed an elaborate branch-and-leaf pattern that wound around the entire pumpkin, shining its lights on the entire table. _Trishanakru_ took the “glowing” part of their name to heart, and Lexa wondered how the pumpkin maintained its shape, with how much had been removed to make way for the light inside it. A more historical approach had been taken by _Delfikru_ and _Sankru_ , who displayed carvings of an ancient temple and an Egyptian pharaoh, respectively. Lexa gazed in wonder with the rest of her people at the exhibits, but when she reached the _Skaikru_ table, she stopped short.

Clarke herself had deigned to create _Skaikru_ ’s contribution herself, and much to Lexa’s displeasure, had secluded herself in a barn for four days to complete it. She refused to even hint to Lexa what the design was, under the guise of “not wanting to have the commander be influenced by her wonderous art,” or some such fanciful excuse. Lexa could see why the secrecy was necessary, now… if it had been up to her, this pumpkin never would have made it to the table.

There, standing in proud view, was a carving of a raccoon, holding its little grabby paws worshipfully towards a candle. The candle portion had been carved in the exact shape and size of the candle inside the jack-o’-lantern, so that when viewed from adult height, the candle matched up exactly with the carved outline, instead of merely being a silhouette. The artwork was masterfully done, Lexa had to admit, but what shocked her was the raccoon itself… whose eyes were a perfect mirror of her own warpaint.

Clarke stood behind the table, a slight flush on her cheeks, and grinned as Lexa finally shook herself enough to approach. “Well? What do you think?”

Lexa glanced from the pumpkin, to Clarke, and back again, silent for a few minutes.

“Clarke… mockery is not the product of a strong mind.”

Clarke laughed then, and her laughter was infectious. Lexa allowed herself to relax in the presence of her other soul, a bright grin appearing on her face. “Maybe I should carve _Trikru_ ’s pumpkin next year, Clarke. I’m thinking… a lion cub, chasing its tail, with a pink mane.”

Clarke kept giggling, seemingly unperturbed. “You know, I’d like to see how you manage to dye a pumpkin, Lexa. Let alone make the color stand out in the dark.”

“I have a year to figure it out. I might have to find a beautiful artist to help me. Maybe one with experience at pumpkin-carving…”


	2. Horror Movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: Horror Movies! Modern AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little behind with writing stuff, so I'm posting two chapters today and two chapters tomorrow. Enjoy!
> 
> Rated: G/T?

Lexa learned early on not to argue with her sister.

 

It started when they were children, getting on the bus the first time together, when Lexa’s Kindergarten class had to move into Anya’s elementary school after the kindergarten flooded. Anya warned Lexa that morning not to sit near Billy Mayswell. Lexa ignored her. Lexa learned that morning that Billy Mayswell never bathed and had issues with personal space beyond what was typical of a first grader. The three baths Lexa took that night weren’t enough to make her forget the incident.

 

The second time Lexa didn’t listen to Anya was when she moved into the junior high school. Anya had told her about the lunch lines, how it was better to skip going to your locker if you were buying lunch and go after you eat, otherwise all the good stuff would be gone, and you’d be left with cheese sandwiches. Lexa ate those cheese sandwiches for a week, and wondered the whole time how long they’d been sitting in a cooler in the back. It wasn’t long before she changed her routine, her sister smirking at her from across the room.

 

Lexa learned a hard lesson again in high school. Anya warned her not to take girls to the janitor’s closet in the science and math wing, because one of the walls was too thin and had a barely concealed hole leading straight into the teacher’s lounge. Lexa had detention for two weeks straight after a particularly enthusiastic fling was rudely interrupted by no less than five teachers, a gym coach, and the girl’s mother, who was there for parent-teacher conferences.

 

So Lexa knew that when her sister pushed, she shouldn’t push back, because Anya would always, always have her best interests at heart.

 

That didn’t mean, of course, that Lexa wouldn’t grumble and complain about certain things. She was fairly introverted, focused on her studies, and dreams of becoming the youngest female CEO stayed at the forefront of her thoughts. She entered her freshman year of college at the same university where Anya had started the previous year, and Anya immediately set to trying to get Lexa to break away from the books and be _social, goddammit_ , because this is _college,_ and it’s not college if you never, ever party.

 

Parties and drinking weren’t Lexa’s thing, and Anya knew that, so she didn’t push those very hard. But when her girlfriend, Raven, announced a Halloween horror movie marathon for their group of friends, and suggested Anya invite her “recluse relative,” Anya knew it was a good idea.

 

“Please, Lex. You’ve met Raven, you said she was cool, and I promise her friends are, too. Some of them are even single. Taking one Saturday to eat popcorn and binge on oldschool horror movies isn’t going to break your GPA for the next four years.”

 

Lexa finally acquiesced after some other persuasive actions on Anya’s part, including an agreement to pay for an Uber back to her dorm if Lexa just felt too bored, or overwhelmed, or just plain ran out of fucks to give. They headed over to Raven’s place bright and early that Saturday morning, bag of bagels and two gallons of coffee from the local bakery in hand, and Lexa breathed deeply to steady herself before facing the onslaught of new people.

 

Neither of them counted on Clarke.

 

To be fair, Anya had never actually met Clarke. Despite the fact that she and Raven shared an apartment, and Raven had talked about her frequently, they’d never seemed to be at the same place at the same time. Clarke was Raven’s best friend from preschool, attached at the hip until Raven went into engineering and Clarke went into an insane visual arts/premed dual major that limited her to three or four hours of sleep a night, if she was lucky. Anya hadn’t had the chance to meet her or talk to her for that reason, always busy with some project or the other every time they did anything as a group.

 

If asked years later, Anya would claim Lexa’s eyes fixated on Clarke from the moment Raven opened the door. Lexa would deny this, insisting that she always scoped out a room she went into for the first time, getting a feel for everyone there to know who was the most comfortable to hang around. What they both agreed on was that Clarke was _gorgeous_.

 

She was standing next to a sliding glass door when they got there, silhouetted by the rising sun, looking utterly relaxed in sweats and a t-shirt. She was drinking a cup of steaming hot tea that fogged the reading glasses she hung on the front of her shirt, and talking to a fiery little brunette who would be introduced as Octavia. Lexa was drawn immediately to her smile, first, as she laughed at some joke of Octavia’s, and then to her eyes, blue as the sky when she turned to see who had just come in.

 

Lexa tried to play it cool. She really did. She didn’t hyperfocus on Clarke, and made sure to take some time to have small talk with at least most of the people there before they all settled around the room to watch the first movie. Some people took spots on the floor, others on couches or in kitchen chairs, but somehow, in some twist of fate, Lexa wound up sitting far too close to Clarke on what Raven called a “loveseat.” Lexa insisted it was really little more than a chair with a little extra wiggle room.

 

She was distracted the entire first movie, sitting rigid in the seat, trying not to think about the beautiful woman pressed entirely accidently into her side. She started to relax some when Clarke turned to her between movies to joke about the bad acting in the first movie Raven had picked out—Paris Hilton was involved somehow, but while Lexa recognized the name, she had no idea why anyone knew who that woman was. She didn’t even seem like an actual actress, Lexa commented to Clarke, which caused Clarke to laugh and ask Lexa if she’d been living in a box. Lexa only somewhat jokingly agreed, and they relaxed back against the cushions when Raven popped the second movie in.

 

By the third movie, they were actively leaning against each other. They whispered back and forth about the idiots in horror movies, the idiots on the couch next to them (a room full of your closest friends is not the best time to try and sneak in makeouts, _Anya_ ), or about anything that popped into their minds. They debated why Raven had called this a “horror marathon, the likes of which you’ve never been scared pissless by before,” when so far the only feelings the movies had inspired had been amusement and pity.

 

They learned when the fourth movie started that Raven had lulled them into a very, very false sense of security. Twenty minutes in and the entire room was silent, fixated on the screen. Lexa could easily make out the rapid breathing and slight trembling of the blonde beside her. Clarke was not a fan of jump scares, it seemed, and squeaked and jerked in the seat each time something happened. Lexa found her attention divided between the movie and Clarke, as she tentatively reached over and grabbed the girl’s hand, offering her silent comfort.

 

The hand holding helped for the duration of the fourth movie, but was useless during the fifth. They had taken a break for an actual meal, so the sun had well set and alcohol had begun flowing by the time the next film started. Half an hour later, Clarke’s face was buried in Lexa’s neck, her breathing heavy, her heart racing. Lexa would have found it arousing if she weren’t so terrified and utterly turned off by the story and gore on the screen. Clarke had it worse than she did, shaking like a leaf the rest of the night.

 

By the end of the night, Clarke was fully sitting on Lexa’s lap, arms around her neck, while Lexa soothed her through the worst parts of the movies. They would claim that was mostly the alcohol later, but then Anya took Lexa aside to whisper that she was staying with Raven, and Lexa needed to find her own way home, and here’s some money for an Uber, and why don’t you take Clarke too because their rooms share a wall and the blonde doesn’t need to hear that. Lexa had no hesitation in asking Clarke to come back to her dorm, no strings attached. She promised they could just chill and Clarke could crash on the couch. They could laugh tomorrow about the ridiculous antics everyone had gotten up to over the weekend. Lexa made excellent dorm-room coffee, or failing that, there was a Starbucks a block away. She woke the next morning in her too-small twin bed, made smaller by the warm body pressed into her front. A face full of blonde hair filled her vision, and she had to sputter some out of her mouth before she could reach for the water and painkillers they’d had the forethought to put on the nightstand.

 

Seeing her phone blinking, Lexa turned on the screen to a series of texts from Anya, starting with “please tell me my ickle sister got home safe or mom will murder me worse than that one actor” and ending with “Jesus Christ, Lexa, get your face out from between Clarke’s legs long enough to let me know she didn’t suffocate you, or so help me God I’m coming over there to pry you off of her myself.” Lexa didn’t have the heart to tell her sister that all they did was talk and cuddle until they fell asleep, but Clarke had already agreed to a date, so maybe next time…

 

Instead, Lexa just sent her big sis a lovingly worded message about how she needed her beauty rest and would probably take today off from studying, too. She ended the message with a thank you for the invite directed at both Anya and Raven, and a side remark about how she’s always known to listen to her big sister.

 

“You know, Lex, you always say that, heed my elder wisdom now. If you’re taking the day off, keep Clarke with you. It’s in our mutual interest, and I think she and Raven would both agree.”

 

Lexa didn’t argue. She knew her sister had her best interests at heart.


	3. Hocus Pocus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day # (or 11? Count up or count down, I don't care): Hocus Pocus
> 
> I took some liberties with the actual movie, but it's one of my favorites all told. Modern AU.
> 
> Rated G.

Midnight on Halloween saw four friends sneaking around, trying desperately not to be seen as they crept towards an ancient house. The idea belonged to Raven, who insisted that this place was “historic” and had “culture,” which was really the only reason Lexa came with them in the first place. Well, and Clarke, who despite her busy schedule still made time to be with her friends, and dragged her girlfriend Lexa along with her more often than not.

 

Lexa did feel curious. It had apparently been more than a few decades since anyone owned this place. It was something of a local legend, really, and frequently the target of vandalism and break-ins by teenagers and drunk college students. The story went that the house had been owned by witches, and the property itself was cursed. Everyone who tried to actually inhabit the house wound up gravely injured or in financial ruin, and after a while no one wanted to take the risk. The state tried to turn it into a sort of “museum of witchcraft,” given its proximity to Salem, but by that point there was so much paranoia around the place that they couldn’t get enough business to keep the doors open. So it sat in ruins, windows dark, lonely and foreboding.

 

Raven insisted that they’d be able to get inside without a problem and had even brought a set of tools along in case of any unexpected padlocks. Turns out they didn’t need it—the lock holding the door bar in place was so rusted it crumbled beneath the engineer's fingertips, granting them quick access.

 

Clarke, ever the pragmatist, immediately went looking for a light switch.  Octavia grumbled something about “maintaining authenticity,” which the blonde ignored.  Unfortunately, while the place had been fitted with a modern fire sprinkler system and electrical outlets, the state had apparently agreed with Octavia and left out overhead lighting. Octavia insisted that this was how it was “supposed” to be, and passed Lexa a box of dusty matches and orders to find every candle in the building. Lexa, of course, accepted the challenge with glee.

 

The room gradually filled with light as she moved around, lighting flame after flame.  For the most part, she ignored the jokes from her friends about her “gleeful cackling” as she set about her task, and focused instead on blowing the dust off old wax pillars.  Finally, she felt she had found all the candles, when she spied another sitting on a pedestal, alone.

 

Walking up to it, she read the inscription aloud.  “The Black Flame Candle,” she reported to her friends, who gathered around her.  “The Sanderson sisters once inhabited this home.  After they were executed for witchcraft, a prophecy was made that whenever a virgin lights the black flame candle, they will return, and seek their vengeance upon the world.”  The foursome laughed, and three turned back to the rest of the house, but Lexa stood there, curiosity building.

 

A few seconds later, the rest of the candles blew out in a sudden burst of cold wind.  Clarke shrieked and clung to Raven, who was examining an old dagger, which she now gripped in a sweaty palm.  Finally, the candles flickered back to life to reveal three women who had not been there before.

 

The oldest, a redhead, spoke.  “Which of thee is the virgin who lit the candle? For we shall reward thee and consume thee first, so as to spare thee the sight of the suffering of friends.”

 

Lexa, perplexed, raised her hand timidly. “I mean… I lit the candle, but I’m not a virgin.”

 

Another of the sisters looked towards the redhead.  “Winnie, if she lit the candle, she has to be a virgin, right?  That’s what it says.”

 

Winnie, apparently the leader, replied to Lexa.  “Hast thou been with a man, child?”

 

“Well, no.  I’m a lesbian.”

 

“Then thou art a virgin!” the witch exclaimed.  “And we have returned for the vengeance that is rightfully ours!”

 

“Hold up,” Octavia spoke up from across the room.  “I don’t know about you guys, but my room shares a wall with Clarke’s.  I can assure you, Lexa is far from pure.”

 

“And what, do tell, does the sharing of a wall have to do with this one’s virginal state?” the third witch asked.

 

Clarke spoke up then, no longer content to remain silent.  “I mean… I could give you a demonstration, but I think Octavia and Raven should leave first.”

 

The redhead withdrew, placing her arms protectively in from of her sisters.  “A demonstration of… child, art thou saying that thou hast engaged in relations with this one, another woman?!”

 

Clarke and Lexa grinned at each other before the brunette responded.  “And what good relations they are, yes.  Like I said… not a virgin.”

 

“Wait, we might be missing some context, guys,” Raven interjected.  “Think about it.  If these weird chicks are really from three hundred years ago, they would have defined virginity from a Biblical perspective.  A childbearing perspective, if you beget my drift.”

 

“Firstly, Raven, that pun doesn’t even make sense.  Second, regardless of how they defined it then, virginity is a social construct, and like most words, is defined by the people using it in the present.  It’s the same issue they have with interpretation of historical documents—things mean one thing to us now that didn’t mean the same thing even a decade ago.”  Lexa turned to Clarke before continuing.  “Love, I know, and you know, that our, um… relations… certainly qualify as sex, but someone from three hundred years ago… hell, someone from thirty years ago might not agree.  There’s even a theory that female same-sex relationships were common, though secretive, BECAUSE they didn’t count as ‘real relations’ for the purposes of maintaining virginity.”

 

The witches coughed lightly, drawing attention back to them.  “So, thou art saying that thou hast regular relations with another woman, or other women?”

 

Lexa nodded.  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.  Look, I don’t get good reception around here, but I can pull up a video that explains the dynamics of the evolution of sexual terminology, and how it relates to the patriarchy—”

 

The witches flinched backwards noticeably, hissing.  “Say not that word!”

 

Lexa’s eyes narrowed.  “What word?  Sexual?”

 

“No, thou fool!  The root of evil, that even witches fear!”

 

Clarke took a guess.  “Evolution?”

 

“Cretins, all of thee!  Thou knowest not how subsumed in evil thou art!”

 

Octavia gave it a shot next.  “Patriarchy?”

 

The blonde witch broke down in sobs, only to be comforted by her brunette sister.  The redhead explained angrily.  “The root of all evil, the control of man over the rest of mankind!  Even to call this world mankind does a disservice to the mothers, and sisters, and daughters, who maintain its seasons and draw forth its power!  Why dost thou think we were hung?  They feared us, they feared their own women, and blamed our crimes on womanhood!”

 

“Wait, so you’re saying that witchcraft was a… reaction to men?  A taking back of power, of self-sufficiency?  A plea for recognition?” Lexa asked.

 

“Of course, idiot child.  Our vengeance shall lay waste to men, to bring the power of women into the world!”

 

Lexa laughed then, shaking her head.  “Well, a lot has changed in the last three hundred years, ladies.  We’re not there yet, but laying aside our current understanding of gender identity, we’ve made significant progress.  I mean, we can vote, we can work, own property, hell, Clarke and I can even get married now, thanks to the Supreme Court stepping in.  There’s a lot of work to be done, but laying waste to the world isn’t the way to do it.  Change takes time, you know?  A woman even ran for president a few years back, and damn near won.  A lot of men are even on the side of women’s rights now, so destroying them would do more harm than good, I think.”

 

The eldest witch blinked, standing silently for a few moments.  “Then… for what purpose have we returned?  How are we able to stand here without a virgin?  What shall we do with our newfound life?”

 

Clarke laughed.  “Lady, I’m 22, and I can’t even figure out what to have for dinner, let alone what to do with my life.  I have my friends, I have my girlfriend, I have my family, I have a job I mostly like.  I dunno, maybe you guys could get into politics.”

 

The witches looked at each other, then back to the friends.  “Can we empower womankind in that manner?”

 

“You can try.  That’s all we can do, really.  Try, and work, and little by little, make the world better.”

 

“Take us to the place of power, then.  Show us where we may gain status in this new world.”

 

Octavia looked around.  “I mean… it’s one o’clock in the morning, the social security office isn’t open.  So... sleepover?"

 


	4. Back in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is given the opportunity to travel into her past, to change something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T.
> 
> Angst, but a happy ending. Warning for a brief mention of the events of 307, but obvs with a different, happier ending. This chapter got a little away from me, so only one today... sorry. Hopefully I can catch up tomorrow.

Lexa was given the choice to turn back time.

 

Like many parts of this new world, the Hag of Trikru was supposed to be a myth.  A legend, a bedtime story meant to scare children into good behavior.  She was a monstrous old witch, powerful in magic and spiteful in nature, not one to be crossed.  Some of the stories said that if you provided her with something she needed, she would grant you a boon.  Other stories said that no matter what, she would find a way to trick you.

 

To Clarke, the legends sounded like a combination of Baba Yaga, Beauty and the Beast, and a host of other ancient stories combined.  She didn’t believe them, and when Lexa returned from her hunt to tell her of the encounter, she was skeptical, to say the least.

 

Lexa told Clarke that while she had been out hunting, she spotted a deer of purest white.  She followed, silent footfalls through the trees, tracking her quarry through hills and streams, weaving and winding for hours through the underbrush.  She followed the deer for a full day, she said, not sleeping or eating, simply lost in pursuit.

 

When she finally lost sight of the beast, she realized she didn’t know where she was.  The overcast sky didn’t help her navigate by the stars she knew so well.  The hills and trees were unfamiliar.  For the first time in a long time, the unflinching commander began to worry.

 

She worried and fretted and wandered through the woods, searching for a landmark, an indication of her position.  She found nothing, and cursing under her breath, she called to the spirits of the world to aid her.  The voice that answered, she told Clarke, belonged to an ancient, ugly woman.  Her hair was thinning and gray, her face twisted with age.  She walked with a cane, hunched over… or was that hunch the result of the enormous pack she carried on her back?

 

Regardless, the woman approached Lexa, laughing softly.  The hair on Lexa’s neck stood on end in her presence, and a part of her knew that this woman meant something.  Her mind flashed back to the legends she had heard as a child, but surely… surely this had to be a woman exiled from a nearby village?  Perhaps the village would be able to point her back home.

 

The woman stretched out a gnarled hand toward the girl.  “Grant me a wish, child,” she said, gazing with uneven eyes.  “Grant me a wish, and teach me something I have never known.  Tell me a story I have never heard.”

 

Lexa hesitated, unsure how to respond.  How could she teach something never known if she didn’t know the extent of the woman’s knowledge?  And certainly, given her age, she’d heard all the tales and fables Lexa has learned as a young child, browsing the libraries of Polis in her free time.  She felt decidedly more lost than before.

 

Then, in a flash of inspiration, she remembered the sky.  She remembered looking to the stars to guide her home.  Why not look to the girl who fell from them for assistance now?  She racked her brain to think of any tales Clarke may have told her in their late nights by the fire, whispering nothings as the embers faded.  When nothing came to mind, she began to despair.

 

“Answer me, child.  Give me something new, or I shall take your newness from you.  You will know my broken old bones, and I will thrive again in youth.”

 

Lexa’s worry deepened.  What could possibly be new in a ruined world?  What could she give that had never been given to this woman?  She fell to her knees, hope falling from her face, sighing as her pack clunked to the ground beside her.

 

Wait… clunked?

 

Lexa had packed only rations, flint, tinder, and a waterskin.  Nothing that would thunk so heavily upon the ground.  She wondered how she did not notice earlier that her pack was unusually heavy, and she opened it to see if she might find inspiration within.

 

What she found was a large book, the Collection of World Folklore.  She had never seen it before, and lifted it slowly, confused.  A piece of paper fluttered to the ground from between its pages.  Lexa unfolded it to read.

 

_My love,_

_I know you’re not much for ‘useless weight,’ as you called it while you were packing, but I know there must be times on the hunt when you find yourself bored by the fireside.  I thought I would pass along a gift my father gave me when I was young… stories from around the world, from before the apocalypse.  Out of all the stories you’ve told me you learned as a kid, I know there are plenty in here unlike anything you’ve encountered.  I hope you enjoy it, and think of me while you’re away._

_Come home soon, and safely, love._

_~Clarke_

 

Lexa was silent.  She called for the sky and the sky answered, apparently, from before she even asked.  She held the book out to the woman with a grin.

 

“What do you offer me, child?”

 

“Stories.  From the old world, old to time but new to you and I.”

 

The hag shook her head.  “That is not enough.  Words on paper are meaningless.  Change your offering, or I shall take my due.”

 

Lexa took a deep breath.  “These are not just stories, grandmother.  These are tales passed from a father to a daughter, from a lover to a beloved.  Every day spent tells a new story, friend, if love exists in it.  I don’t need stories.  I only need the one who gave them to me.”

 

The hag smiled, a wheezing laugh escaping through the gaps in her rotting teeth.  “I accept your offer. Now you will hear mine.  I have powerful magics, child, the likes of which you have never encountered.  I sense much regret in you, much pain, much chaos.  I will use my magics on your behalf.  I will allow you to go back in time, and change one and only one decision you have made.  Choose wisely.  You have until sunup to give me your answer.”  With that, the hag sank to the ground and pulled firewood from her bag, to set about making a fire for them.

 

Lexa sat on the ground, shoulders slumped.  She felt so unsure, so… hesitant.  When asked what she regretted, her thoughts were jumbled—she had made many difficult choices as commander, as a human, as a friend.  How could she possibly choose to undo her pain?

 

Her first thought was Costia.  The decision to allow her in the caravan to Azgeda as a spy haunted her to this day.  In her dreams, she sometimes saw her lover’s head, sitting atop her pillow, looking for the world as if she were asleep… until she noticed the blood pooling on the furs, and saw that the lump of her body was nothing but blankets stuffed under the covers.  But if she changed that, would she have ever known the depths of the Ice Queen’s treachery?  Would she have chosen the same as she did when she accepted Nia and her ilk into her alliance?

 

Her second thought was of Anya.  Allowing her to go as the head of the crew to meet with the fallen stars for the first time, the stars that fought with fire and lead… would she change that decision?  Would she have gone in Anya’s stead, knowing that her mentor and friend would live, would never be taken into the mountain?  That lead her to thoughts of Gustus, the feeling of her sword through his heart, his final words: _ste yuj_.  She had been strong, she thought, but not a month later had completely reversed her policy and declared that blood must not have blood.  Had she come to that conclusion sooner, might Gustus have lived, and been forgiven of his crimes?   Could she go further back than that, and inform him of the alliance, allow him to understand her reasoning?

 

Her thoughts became jumbled as she stared into the witch’s fire, more recent memories cascading through her vision.  One after the other, she saw the boy Finn, the blood on his shirt, the knife in Clarke’s hand, the despair on Clarke’s face.  Could she have pardoned him?  Or would she stay at the Mountain, would she prevent the pain of treason from ever touching her lover?  Could the outcome have been different, lives saved, pain lessened, if she had rejected Cage’s offer?  Would she still have had Clarke captured by a mercenary, instead of looking for her herself?

 

As her thoughts swirled around her head, Lexa’s fingers came to brush by a scar near her navel.  It shone bright silver when she lifted her shirt, glinting in the moonlight.  A year had passed, but it still seemed fresh.

 

What of Titus, then?  Could she have reasoned with him, before it came to that?  Or pardoned him after, instead of having another friend’s blood on her hands?  If she had only gotten him to understand that her love made her strong, not weak, and that Clarke…

 

Clarke.

 

Lexa’s memories all came back to the blonde waiting for her in their chambers.  She wondered what Clarke was doing at this moment, if she slumbered beneath furs or sat by the window, sketching the sky, another beautiful artwork to show Lexa upon her return.  Would she be soothing one of the Natblida, who had woken from a nightmare, who called Clarke _nomon_ when they thought Lexa couldn’t hear?

 

Lexa had her answer.  The Hag of Trikru smiled at her again, and granted her the boon she promised.

 

As Clarke listened to Lexa recall the tale from her hunt, she found herself doubting its reality strongly.  Perhaps Lexa had eaten a bad piece of meat, or ingested a hallucinogenic berry by mistake.  There had to be a logical explanation for what she was reporting… but as Clarke tried to reason through it, she noticed where Lexa ended her story.

 

“Wait, Lex… What decision did you change?”

 

Lexa smiled at her lover, turning to kneel in front of her, and grasped both of the blonde’s hands in her own.  “ _Niron_ , I… I told her that I wouldn’t change a moment.  Because any of those moments could have prevented me from coming home to you.”

 

Clarke smiled, but still, her curiosity persisted.  “So, she didn’t give you anything?  Just the offer to change something?”

 

Lexa grinned, and reached for her pocket.  “I didn’t say she didn’t help me change something.  She just helped me change my future, and not my past.”  With that, Lexa pulled out an intricate necklace, beadwork of silver and gold and emerald and ruby, with the symbol of the commander on a pendant in the center.  She held it out to her lover.

 

“Clarke, I know your people exchange rings, but things work differently here.  When one of my people, I should say, when one of the Trikru chooses a life-partner, they gift a necklace instead, fashioned from their own hands.  I worried that I would never be able to fashion such a necklace, with the blood on my hands making the beads slip from my grasp.  The Hag granted me a changing boon, indeed: she washed my hands in the waters of time, so I can be here, now.”


End file.
